December 22, 2047.
“There’s just no way. You’re making it up.”
“You should hear my mother describe it. I had a few walls for buffer and it was still that bad!”
Tari smirked, looking out the passenger window of Lenard’s car. Deep snowdrifts flanked the roads, pushed into strange frozen waves by the wind whipping across the prairie. They looked like they’d been frozen in mid-crest where they’d formed on the lee side of the small hills. “Have you ever even seen a didgeridoo?”